


Growing Pains

by Julep_Di_Mentha



Category: Bleach
Genre: Bounts - Freeform, Gen, a little bit of worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-15 22:58:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8076214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julep_Di_Mentha/pseuds/Julep_Di_Mentha
Summary: On the Mortal Plane, the bond between a Bount and their Doll is sacrosanct.





	

There is a brief second, where a person comes up with a little inkling of an Idea. They write it down and stew upon it. They feed it other ideas, they poke and prod at it and they observe it. And the Idea grows. It grows and it grows until it is the only thing at the forefront of the person’s mind and they can’t do anything else because all they want to do is to shape it and pull it into reality – 

The person takes out a pencil to paper and starts to draw.

There is a hesitation, before an artist picks up the instruments of his or her or their trade and begins to attempt to recreate the entity that lives in the deepest parts of their hearts. They look at the plans once, twice. There is a single breath of doubt, of what=ifs and what-could-bes before the sculptor puts his chisel to the stone and the painter holds the wet paintbrush a hairbreadth away from the pristine, white canvas. 

The artist pushes them aside for later, takes a breath, and then dives into the creation process.

There is an odd sort of magic in creating a masterpiece; a sort of stretching and squeezing of time. Some parts seem to take disproportionately longer than others and some parts seem to go by so fast that when you look up from your work you’ve realized that you’ve been working on it for a week without getting up to eat, sleep, or any of that vital stuff. 

You, the artist, ignore the thoughts – the distractions and return to what you were doing.

There are plenty of moments when you feel frustrated and angry, when you want to rage at the skies because some pieces aren’t fitting together like you want them to and your heart is filled with doubts and reiterations of the same mantra of ‘what if I mess up?’ and ‘what if it doesn’t turn out the way I envisioned it?’.  
You take a break. Do the things you’ve been putting off: take a bath, wash your clothes, eat. Then the pull of a new idea, of a new perspective pulls at you and you abandon whatever you were doing in your rush to get back to the studio.

There is a moment, or a few moments when you feel bone deep exhaustion, and you ask yourself why you are doing this. What could possibly worth all this exhaustion, all this frustration and suffering and toil; sweat and tears and blood and ink and paper and soul.

You ask, and you receive an answer. You look at the schematics of your life’s work. Or the image comes unbidden to your mind. And everything just slots into place and you realize: _Oh, so that’s why_. 

You throw yourself back into your work with new fervor.

And then there is The Moment. The moment when you make the last line in a drawing, the last stroke of a paintbrush, the finishing touch on a statue. The final piece of the puzzle.

And you are just so overcome with emotion of looking upon something so beautiful and glorious and – 

That – that is your baby, your child, your creation, something that is so much a part of you that it is almost its own entity.

 

A woman puts down her trowel and her penknife.

**Author's Note:**

> A little plot bunny that came and nibbled at my brain until I gave in and wrote something to appease it.


End file.
